Suede
by tell them i hate them
Summary: It was worth it. Forget Legato and forget Knives. No smut, just possibly lethal levels of angst. WxV


Note: This is mostly an experiment in style, and also because I felt like it. Thanks to the kind words left for "Amami," by the way. I'm a sucker for kind words, you know. There's a sudden change in perspective along the way, but don't worry. That's normal. Like I said, an experiment in style. There's words inserted randomly in places that sort of resemble poetry, but that's because they're lyrics. The song in question is "Suede", and it's by Tori Amos. I kind of manipulated read: butchered it for my purposes. Disclaimers can still merrily screw off. Aren't I the rebel.

-

_suede  
you always felt like suede_

When we passed that boundary that separated friends from lovers, not much changed, except for the distinct decrease in awkward moments when we would brush against each other, or the sudden ease of sleeping in the same bed.

Actually, the only thing that really changed was the frequency of Legato's beloved mindfucking. His method of choice when it comes to keeping the Gung-Ho Guns (mostly me, I'm not ashamed to admit) in line. But I was used to that. It never, ever got any easier, that horrible feeling that was akin to the feeling of being violently raped, but I was at least prepared, and preparation helped quite a bit with dealing with that sensation.

It was worth it. Fuck Legato, and fuck Knives. I'd said it aloud to their faces before, and despite the punishment it awarded me, I didn't regret it.

I don't think they quite know what to do with me. Which, of course, only makes me feel like I've got at least some leverage. 

That leverage is Vash. As much as I hate describing him as such, it's necessary for me to use him like that - well, to use Knives's obsession with him as leverage. That's more accurate. Because I'm the only one they've got who could have gotten to him, who could have gained his trust and his friendship, and they knew it then, and they know it now. They hate me for it, and I'm sure that when/if I fail in my original mission, or even when/if I succeed, the final outcome for me is sure to be the most excruciating experience imaginable to a mortal like me. But that's not to come for a while yet. Gives me time to think about it, and more importantly, how to avoid it and still manage to save all of us - my kids, Vash. Maybe even myself. 

It's kind of funny that Vash himself is sort of ... I don't know, refuge for me from all of this. He doesn't even know what he's taking my mind off of, which is even worse for my conscience. Then again, it's entirely possible that he's got his suspicions. He's not an idiot, despite what pretty much everyone he knows will tell you. He's been alive for this long, and however long that may be, he didn't manage to survive those years without being at least a little perceptive. 

_there are days i feel your twin  
hiding underneath your skin  
and this has power over me  
not because you feel something  
or don't feel something for me  
but because  
mass  
so big  
it could swallow a whole star intact_

I'm terrified of Knives, of course. But at least with Knives I pretty much know what's going on and what is eventually going to happen - with regards to myself and most of my kind, at least. Vash is just this monster of ambiguity, and it comes from being more or less unfocused. He knows he's looking for Knives, and nothing more than that. Add that to the fact that to all intents and purposes he doesn't really seem to be in full control of himself sometimes - I come to that conclusion because I simply cannot believe he'd blow two cities apart by his own will, and yet he did do it - and yeah, I'm on edge a good deal of the time when I'm around him. Not all the time, mind you. Really, it's not that frequent at all that I get so uneasy around him. But I tend to remember the times that I do. 

_anybody knows you can conjure anything  
by the dark of the moon_

It's a pretty dynamic lifestyle, traveling with Vash. Vash the Stampede. 

It still feels strange using that name. He hates the name, and I do too, to be honest. People have said he has the devil's luck, but then again, everyone on the planet wants him dead because of something that he was entirely unable to stop. Look at his scars and tell him he's lucky. Look at his entire fucking life and tell him he's lucky. People who would tell him he's lucky to be alive and all that tripe aren't really optimists so much as fools. 

I don't know how he's still smiling. Empty or not, he still does it. And then at night, when he thinks I'm asleep, he'll pull himself away from me and go off and drop that mask of his and just stare ahead of him, eyes unfocused and tired, the corners of his mouth tugging down. Every once in a while, I'll see tears, which he tries to hide - though who he's hiding them from, I don't know, since I'm asleep as far as he knows. Maybe he knows I'm awake. I don't know. 

When he cries, he sort of hugs himself, and the only sound that comes from him are these short, sharp little gasps every now and then, barely audible at all. Except in these tiny hotel rooms, that is. 

Like now. I'm literally struggling not to go to him. I don't know why I don't. I just lay here, keeping my eyes open just enough. The light from the moons is coming in through the window and it'd be a beautiful sight if he weren't so god damned sad. Hell, as it is, it's still a beautiful sight. It just gives me that unpleasant twinge between my chest and my stomach. I just want to tell him to come back to bed. I could ask him what's wrong, but I _know_ what's wrong, and I've got the sneaking suspicion that he knows that I know. I've got the sneaking suspicion that if I tried to make it better, I'd just make it worse. 

So I lay here, and watch him. Eventually he comes back to bed, and I shut my eyes, but I can still feel his eyes on me. He runs his fingers through my hair, trails them down my face, resting on my lips. I hear myself sigh. I sure as hell didn't mean to do that, but he doesn't say anything, and I keep my eyes shut, keep my breathing regular, so I guess he fell for it. His lips rest on my forehead for a brief moment, and he falls back onto the mattress, turns onto his side. I don't know if he ever even gets to sleep. I don't. 

God damned guilt.

-

He doesn't know how many bullets have lodged themselves in his body. He doesn't know if Chapel's still alive. He doesn't know why his mentor and the only father figure he ever had would do this, would shoot him when his back was turned like that, but he supposes it doesn't matter. He shot to disable, not kill. Chapel will live. 

He's dragging himself through these dusty streets, and when he sees Vash, an anxiety he didn't realize he'd been holding onto disappears, replaced by relief. Vash obviously isn't happy, but he is alive, and looks okay, for the most part. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I failed. I failed to save another life." 

"Oh well. Mortal men are bound to make mistakes. Just be more careful next time." 

"It isn't something I can accept that easily, Wolfwood!" He knows that. But what else is he supposed to say? Whatever he chooses to say, Caine and all the others he's met and lost stay dead. Extremely, irrevocably dead. 

"Then let it get you," he says with some finality. "That's also part of being mortal." 

"Oh, yeah. Mortal." He hears the words fall off those lips, and then he remembers. Of course it affects him like this. Over a hundred years of watching everyone die ... Anyone else would have inured themselves to it. But not Vash. If anything, every time it happens it seems to rip open a wound that had just started to heal, rip it open and remind Vash of all his supposed weaknesses and failures. It's a crippling pain, he knows. The fact that he's added to it is no comfort. He knows he's running out of time and so he makes his decision. 

_call me evil  
call me anything that you want_

"By the way," he begins, and cringes at the tone of his voice, almost as if this were merely an afterthought, "Knives is in Demitrihi." As he begins to walk away, dragging the Punisher behind him, he hears Vash whisper something, undoubtedly the shocked revelation he had been aiming for with that simple statement. It was his confession, his apology, his penance. Confessing this thing he's kept secret for so long to this man who's trusted him alone for three years is the most painful punishment he could have conceived for himself. Even death, slowly but surely creeping up on him now, looks more inviting than the look that's sure to be in Vash's eyes right now. That's why he walked away without another word, not even looking into those eyes. 

_i hoped you wouldn't feel that way_

He never told Vash that he loved him. Didn't even know now for sure if he did, or else he knew and just hadn't admitted to it yet. What he was more worried about, though, was Vash. Vash had whispered it to him more than once on those nights he pretended to sleep. That had certainly never been his intention, but then again it had never been his intention to fall in love himself, either, had it? He supposed it was true. And while even yesterday that realization would have terrified him, now in the little time he has left he wishes he'd acted upon it sooner, actually said something to Vash, for Christ's sake. 

_but i'm still glad you came  
and i'd do the same, i guess_

He sighs, pulls out a cigarette and puts it between his lips. The match hisses, and he thinks that this is how Vash will find him, still smoking, taking it with him to his fucking grave. Maybe he'll take some vague comfort in that, but he doubts it. Idly, he wonders if this was Legato's plan all along, and he decides it must be. Sick fuck. He knows that whatever Bluesummers comes up with next will be even worse, and he regrets that he'll be long gone by then. 

He doesn't regret the things he's done. The things he didn't do, yes, and he supposes Chapel was right all those years. He had always told him that making the decision was the only important thing. But he'd had a corollary to that. "It's better to regret the things you've done than the things you haven't." A painful reminder of the things he wishes he'd told Vash, but at least ... at least he did it halfway right. 

_i wish you didn't feel that way_

And now, now he feels it coming, and now he tries to fight, now that he's struggling for breath and now that his vision's becoming dark and fuzzy around the edges. "I want to stay, with them!" His cigarette falls from his lips, but he doesn't notice, only notices the pain in his chest that's not from the bullets. He wasn't shot in the heart or a lung, though he wishes he had been because it'd be that much quicker. He knows it's over now, but that doesn't stop him fighting. Then, inexplicably, he does stop. And thinks about him. He thinks how hard this is going to be and he hopes that Vash won't give up, won't ever give up, won't stop with that stupid sloppy and reckless philosophy of his, because that's what makes him Vash. And there's one more surge of regret, and he looks up, oblivious to the tears falling from his eyes, and he shouts at God or whoever might be listening, "I did not want to die this way!" 

_you'll forgive me one day_

Outside there is the chirping and rustling wings of a few birds taking flight, and then silence. -

Another note: Was it just a wee bit too ballsy of Wolfwood to outright tell Legato and Knives to fuck off? I figure they know what he's thinking pretty much all the time anyway, so I don't think so, but I could be biased, as it is my idea. Also, I wouldn't be surprised if I included details from both the anime and the manga. I'm not going to change anything, but it'd be nice to know if I did. 


End file.
